I was glad that school was out for the day, but unlike most kids my age, I wasn’t that thrilled to go home. At least it’s Friday, I told myself, which meant no homework. That was something to be thrilled about. I hated homework. I hated studying, but if I didn’t bring home a glowing average every grading period, Dad would have a cow. Mom would try to step in and then Dad would yell at her, too, and no doubt the argument would escalate and it would end the way it always ended. With Sam.He didn’t even live with us anymore, yet every single thing I did that Dad didn’t approve of somehow always came back to him. Dad never said his name. It was like the minute he left with Sam and came back without him, we were all expected to pretend he never existed. Like all the times we played football in the backyard were something I made up. I was supposed to forget the time I took Dad’s watch off his dresser to pretend I was 007 and accidently broke it. Sam took the blame, the lecture and the punishment for me.
